


Doctors Make the Worst Patients

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fledgling romance, Fluff, Humor, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:39:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6239752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for leiascully's tumblr challenge prompt: In Sickness and In Health</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctors Make the Worst Patients

The road seemed endless. Three hours of nothing to see but empty fields of dead grass as they crossed South Dakota in their rented Taurus. The maroon interior of the car had given Scully a headache as soon as Mulder had unlocked the passenger door for her. She’d pretended to listen to him as he rambled on and on about the legends of Deadwood and the murder of Wild Bill Hickok, but the pressure in her head and behind her eyes increased with every passing mile and eventually she tuned him out.

 

“…which is now known as Dead Man’s Hand,” Mulder said. “Scully?”

 

Scully opened her eyes at the sound of her name. Her head throbbed so badly it made her eyes water. “What, Mulder?”

 

“Do you think I’d make a good cowboy? You can be honest.”

 

“Pull over.”

 

“It can’t be that unimaginable.”

 

“Pull over, now!” Scully fumbled with the latch on her seatbelt and then quickly slapped a hand over her mouth. She yanked at the door handle as the car slowed and Mulder eased off the highway onto the shoulder. She was out of the car before it had come to a complete stop, stumbling on the gravel and grass in her rush to get as far away from their vehicle as possible before doubling over at the waist and emptying the contents of her stomach in the dirt.

 

She stayed bent over, holding her knees and swaying as her gut clenched and threatened further upheaval. The pounding in her head was relentless and she swayed, dizziness washing over her. She didn’t hear Mulder behind her before she felt his arm around her waist and his cool hand on her forehead. She closed her eyes and sagged against him momentarily, but caught herself before going totally boneless and straightened, pressing her wrist to her mouth.

 

In an instant, Scully went from feeling a heartbeat away from tearing her overcoat off to avoid burning alive to shivering with cold. Mulder’s hand moved up to grip her shoulder and she turned into him, wanting more of his heat. She grasped the lapel of his jacket to hold herself up.

 

“Scully?” Mulder said, smoothing her hair back off her cheek as she tipped her head unconsciously to his chest. Suddenly realizing she’d cuddled up to him, she pulled away, hot again, this time from embarrassment.

 

“I’m sorry,” Scully said.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“I’m okay, I…I need to sit.”

 

“Come on.” Mulder guided Scully back to the car. The passenger door was still open and the car was still running. He pulled the lever to recline her seat before helping her lay back. She wrapped her overcoat tighter, shivering again.

 

Mulder went to the rear of the car and popped the trunk. He came back and knelt down by Scully’s side, uncapping a bottle of water before handing it to her. Scully raised her head and took a small sip, afraid her stomach might reject anything more. Mulder sealed the bottle and tucked it under her arm.

 

“I think we’re about twenty miles or so away from the motel,” Mulder said.

 

“Okay.”

 

“If you need me to stop again, just say the word.”

 

“I will.”

 

“I’m going to put your seatbelt on, okay? And then we’ll get out of here.”

 

Scully nodded, her eyes rolling shut. Mulder strapped her in, very gently, trying to keep the lapband loose and then adjusted the shoulder strap so it was behind her and not across her face. He took his trench coat off and draped it over her. It was long enough to cover her almost completely from shoulders to ankles. He smiled to himself in amusement and then closed her door. When he got back in the car, he turned the heat a little higher and fiddled with the vents to direct them towards her.

 

They made it to the motel without stopping, but every time Mulder looked over at Scully, her brows were pulled together and she looked to be concentrating on controlling her breathing. About ten minutes before coming upon their exit, he saw her raise her hand and press her fist against her mouth. He prepared to make a quick stop, but after a few minutes, she lowered her hand and let out a long breath.

 

“We’re here,” Mulder said, pulling into the empty carport in front of the manager’s office of the motel. “You’ll be okay here while I run and check in?”

 

Scully nodded, her eyes still closed.

 

“I’ll be quick.”

 

Mulder got out of the car and hurried in to the manager’s office. He flashed the bureau credit card, signed the necessary receipts and picked up their keys with hasty impatience. When he got back in the car, Scully was sitting forward, shoulders hunched, and her seatbelt was off.

 

“We’re around the back on the end.”

 

“Can you hurry?” Scully whispered.

 

Mulder put the car in gear and whipped around to the back of the motel, jerking to a rough stop at an angle, taking up two parking spots in front of the door of room number 18. He got out of the car first, key in hand, and unlocked the door as quickly as possible. Scully pushed past him and hurried to the bathroom.

 

Wanting to give her some privacy, Mulder pulled the door nearly shut before he re-parked the car properly and then brought their suitcases into her room. He could hear her retching in the bathroom as he set her things on the bed. He left his own bag by the door.

 

“Scully?” Mulder called, quietly tapping on the door to the bathroom that was still ajar.

 

Scully was on her knees, hunched over the toilet bowl. When Mulder pulled the hair back from her pale face, the redness of the apples of her cheeks stood out in stark contrast. She was panting softly and then her shoulders tensed as her back rounded and the sound of her retching echoed off the tiles. Mulder grimaced in sympathy and changed the hold he had on her hair to rub her back in soft circles.

 

“You can go,” Scully managed to cough out. “I’m fine.”

 

“Yeah you look like a million bucks.”

 

Rising from his crouched position at Scully’s side, Mulder swiped one of the neatly folded washcloths off the side of the sink and wet it down with cold water. He twisted the small towel until the excess water had been wrung out and then he folded it in half and lay it on the back of Scully’s neck. She moaned, gratefully, and blindly reached up to flush the toilet, but she stayed hunched over.

 

Mulder left the bathroom and went over to Scully’s suitcase. He was about to unzip it, but then changed his mind and dragged it to the floor and pushed it out of the way. He grabbed his own bag instead and pulled out a pair of sweats, a sweatshirt, and some white socks. Scully emerged from the bathroom, holding on to the wall for support, just as he was putting his suitcase back by the door.

 

“What is that?” she asked, nodding to the bed.

 

“I’ve seen what you sleep in, Scully. They probably have better PJ’s in prison.”

 

“I’m not sleeping.” Scully straightened her back and let go of the wall. “We have to interview the sheriff.”

 

“I’m sure Sheriff Moore would appreciate not wearing your lunch. Don’t worry about it, I’ll go.”

 

“Mulder.”

 

“Scully.”

 

“It’s probably just a very mild flu. I’m fine.”

 

Mulder moved towards her, and put the clothes in her hands. That simple pair of sweats felt very heavy to her and hard to hold onto. Mulder pressed against her hands, the clothes between them. When he let go, she swayed on her feet, eyes rolling shut.

 

“Sleep it off,” Mulder said. “And we can start fresh tomorrow.”

 

“Are you…sure?” Scully blinked up at him, but it was impossible to open her eyes completely. They were too heavy.

 

“I’m gonna go saddle up and head into town. I’ll check on you later.”

 

Mulder left quickly, giving Scully no time to argue. It was already late in the afternoon and Scully’s autopsy wasn’t scheduled until the following morning anyway so he had no qualms about covering for her. He went into town and met with the Sheriff, picked up the file on the murder they were there to investigate, and assured the man that Scully would be there in the morning to do the autopsy.

 

Before heading back to the motel, Mulder stopped at a truck stop convenience store and several bags of supplies later, he returned to check on Scully. With a quiet tap on her door, he let himself in with the extra key he pocketed at check-in and was pleased to find her asleep, curled up on her side and hugging one of her pillows. Cautiously, and quietly, he put the bags on the dresser and settled into one of the chairs by the window with the case file.

 

In the middle of reading the file, he heard Scully whimper and he looked up. She had curled up into an even tighter ball and was clutching the pillow so tightly against her chest he could see her knuckles were white. Her pallor was grey and even from across the room, he could see beads of sweat across her forehead and temples.

 

“Scully?” he said, quietly, moving towards the bed and leaning over her. She moaned and her brows pulled together into an expression of pain.

 

Mulder had no experience taking care of someone, not even a healthy someone, let alone a sick someone. He didn’t know if he should be trying to get her into a cool bath or taking her to a hospital or calling for a doctor. Did doctors even make house calls anymore or was that just in movies? Tentatively, he reached out and put his hand on her cheek. She was burning up. There was one way he knew he might be able to cool her down.

 

Quickly, Mulder grabbed the ice bucket from the table and went outside to the end of the row of rooms to get a scoop of ice. He came back to her room and added water to the bucket so he had it half-full of ice water. He sat down on the bed next to Scully with the bucket and a washcloth and began to dab her brow, dipping the washcloth into the cold water, wringing it out and pressing it lightly to her face and neck.

 

Scully’s breathing was so quick and shallow that it scared him. He stopped for a few moments to loosen her grip on the pillow and pushed two fingers against her wrist to take her pulse. He didn’t exactly know what he was doing, but he knew the rapid flutter under his fingers was too fast to be normal.

 

“Come on, Scully,” Mulder whispered. “You’re the doctor in the family, not me. What do I do here?”

 

Scully moaned in response and her eyes rolled open and closed. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t wake. She rolled onto her other side and nearly ended up Mulder’s lap, cheek coming to rest against his knee and arm draped over his leg. Her hair was stuck to her sweaty cheek and he brushed it back to sponge the other side of her face with cold water.

 

The ice in the bucket was half melted by the time it was apparent she’d cooled off enough for him to stop. She started shivering against him and he rubbed her back and shoulder. She moaned again, but it was more like a sigh than a painful groan. Her breathing slowed and she eventually fell into a more normal slumber. He stayed with her a bit longer and then eased out from her under her and got up, tucked the bedclothes around her a little tighter and then cleaned out the ice bucket and hung up the washcloth in the bathroom.

 

Mulder sat back down and tried to continue with the report, but it was hard to do when he was more concerned with keeping a watchful eye on Scully as she slept. An hour later and she began to stir, eyes rolling open as she stretched and rubbed her head.

 

“Sleeping Beauty awakes,” Mulder murmured.

 

Scully bolted upright. “Mulder!” she gasped, putting both hands to her cheeks, eyes wide.

 

“Didn’t mean to scare you. Feeling better?”

 

“Yeah…yes. I think. What’re you doing in here?”

 

“Reading. I met with the Sheriff. We can go over that later.” He got up from the table and went over to the bed. Scully backed up into the pillows and gave him a weary look. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were stained pink. He sat down and touched the back of his hand to her cheek. “Still a little warm,” he said.

 

“I…just woke up.” Scully blinked at him, some vague impression of Mulder hovering over her creeping into the back of her mind, but she couldn’t tell if it was memory or a dream.

 

“I got some things,” Mulder said, turning suddenly and sliding off the bed. He brought a few plastic bags over from her dresser and started unpacking them in her lap. “Theraflu, Nyquil and Dayquil, some sort of combo thing, Pepto Bismol, Alka Seltzer, I don’t know what flavor of Gatorade you like best, so there’s red, blue and green.”

 

“Mulder…”

 

“Oh, and soup. The waitress at the truck stop said their chicken noodle is the best in the state.”

 

“You really…you didn’t have to do this.”

 

“Hey, I don’t need you up-chucking in the car tomorrow. We’ll lose the deposit on the rental and Skinner would have my ass.”

 

Scully snorted softly, casting her eyes down in embarrassment and running her hand over the boxes of medication he’d dumped on her lap. She was a little weak from the nausea and her muscles ached. She felt sticky and uncomfortable and tired, but at least she didn’t feel like she was on the verge of throwing up any longer.

 

“I could maybe use some of that soup,” she said.

 

“Coming right up.” Mulder went back to the table and unfolded the top of a paper bag, which he then produced a plain white container and plastic spoon from. “If it’s not hot enough,” he said, opening the lid, “the lady in the management office said I could use the microwave.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“Crackers?”

 

“No, I’m okay.”

 

Mulder nodded and went back to the table, pretending to immerse himself in the file, but watching Scully eat in his periphery. She sipped the soup slowly and then set it down on the nightstand and grabbed the green Gatorade. He made a mental note that she liked the green flavor as he watched her struggle to open the cap. Taking the file in his hand with him as a ruse, he walked over to her and traded it for the Gatorade, slipping the bottle out of her hands and replacing her empty grip with the folder.

 

“Look at that,” Mulder said, easily unscrewing the cap and then handing it back.

 

“Look at what?”

 

“What does it look like?”

 

“Aside from defensive wounds to the hands?”

 

“But doesn’t the one on the left look like a diamond?” he asked, leaning over and tracing the broken lines in the photograph to reinforce his theory. “And on the right…a four?”

 

“You could turn those marks into anything.”

 

“I have a theory.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“Just listen. One hour before being found dead, Mr. Wheeler left the Red Pony Lodge, where he’d spent half the day playing video poker in the hotel casino.”

 

“I seem to recall you saying Dead Man’s Hand was spades and clubs,” Scully interrupted. “Aces and eights. Not the four of diamonds.”

 

“You _were_ paying attention.”

 

Scully looked up at him and handed him the folder back. “I’ll know more tomorrow once I perform the autopsy.”

 

“But, don’t you think it’s just a little suspicious?”

 

“If you’re going to try to convince me that the video poker machine was angry with Mr. Wheeler for playing it, followed him outside the casino, stabbed him seven times in the chest and carved a four of diamonds into his hands, please remember that I only have the flu, not dementia.”

 

“Glad to see you’re feeling better.” Mulder grinned, closing the folder and moving back to the table to gather the contents of the file together. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”

 

Scully looked down at all the medications strewn across her lap. The cuffs of Mulder’s sweatshirt slipped off her wrists and over her fingers as she brushed everything aside to get up and walk him out. She forgot that she was wearing his clothes, but remembered feeling like they were the softest things in the world she’d slipped them on.

 

“Don’t get up.” Mulder chuckled and pushed lightly on her shoulder so she sank back into the pillows. She had that impression in her mind again of him hovering over her, only this time she felt the memory of cool fingers on her face and she knew she couldn’t have dreamed it.

 

“Mulder…”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Um…” She struggled to find an appropriate way to say thank you that wouldn’t embarrass him, or herself. They didn’t really say things like that to each other. Not directly. “I can see you in a cowboy hat.”

 

Mulder grinned. He gave Scully’s shoulder a squeeze and then backed away towards the door. “Too bad I can’t ride a horse though.”

 

“Too bad.”

 

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Night, Mulder.”

 

The End


End file.
